Gonna Be the Death of Me (adopted by Brendon Urie)

//one - as happy as I can be//

Song of the Chapter: Mr. Jones by Counting Crows

Eva looked around the small room, the sunlight just starting to peak through the clouded windows. She heard snoring, meaning that Savannah was still asleep. She shared her room with one girl, two years younger then her. Eva was the oldest in the home at the age of 15. 

She stood up and threw her blankets back and decided it sufficed for making her bed, walking out the closed bedroom door and into the bathroom. She stripped quickly, avoiding the mirror strategically and hopping into the shower. The water ran down her softly and she just closed her eyes. She hated life here. It wasn't a bad home, honestly. Ms. Green was nice, and the girls were fine. They all kept to each other due to the age difference. That left Eva to raise herself, knowing Ms. Green was occupied with nine others who could barely tie their shoes. 

Someone knocked hurriedly and complained through the thin door and Eva turned the shower off and threw a towel around her body before opening the door and letting Savannah push through groggily.

"Good morning to you too," Eva giggled lightly. Savannah rolled her eyes and let her mouth turn up to grin before closing the door. Eva returned to her room, starting to get dressed. Today, people had to come look for perspective kids. She'd gotten chosen a few times, coming back after a short period of time because 'her age doesn't fit our lifestyle' or 'she seems like she may need help that we can't provide.' Eva had a history, leading to a lot. People didn't adopt to take on a project; they adopted because they wanted an adorable little girl to take home and love. She didn't necessarily fit that description, and Eva had come to expect that and not get her hopes up on adoption days. 

Eva picked up a light wash pair of skinny jeans, holes placed over her right knee and lower left thigh. She went over to her tiny closet and chose a white tank top, the cover of 'Too Weird to Live, Too Rare to Die' by Panic! at the Disco printed on it. She loved that band, knowing without them, the past two years would have been even worse. Hell, she may not even be alive. After pulling the shirt over her head, Eva decided to finally face the mirror. 

*** (trigger warning indicator)

She walked over to the door and looked up and down, turning to each side to get a better look of her issues. She felt her stomach was too big, along with her thighs. Her arms jiggled as she moved, making her sick to her stomach just watching it.  Her face was average, and honestly some features she liked. Her eyes were dark brown, which wasn't ideal but worked, and her face had a slight dimple when she smiled. The mess of hair in a braided bun was a murky green and blue color, the dye fading out and in need of help. Finally, she looked at her arms. They were littered in scars. The deeper ones still healing, others beaming white and healing. The ripped holes in her jeans placed above her thigh showed the dark, beginning-to-fade marks. They were all old, seeing that she gave up almost eight months ago. She still hated the scars though. Eva, finally having enough of her self-esteem drowning in hatred, shook her head and walked to her bed. She pulled out a black zip up hoodie and threw it over her shoulders, slipping black Vans onto her feet and walking down the stairs. 

***

"Morning." she muttered to the cheery woman cooking at the stove. 

"Good morning sweetie. Breakfast?" Eva shook her head gently, walking to the spare room and seeing her acoustic guitar lean up against the wall. The guitar belonged to her mom. She taught her a few chords and a couple songs, each time Eva played reminding her of the final good days she had with her mom. She'd died a couple years ago, her dad not able to handle it and him running off one night. He left a note that read a simple 'I'm sorry, but you deserve more.' Eva wanted to hate him, but she couldn't. She knew the pain. She lived with it everyday.